The Concept of Being Alive
by quaquaquaqua
Summary: Standing before the gates of Heaven, Rudy mourns for the life he could have had. Death, conveniently, decides to give humanity another chance. This time round, Rudy makes the most of it, from becoming a track star to getting that destined kiss...
1. Chapter 1

It's a simple concept. The dead never remain dead.

There he is. He's standing there, all alone, a head full of dusty golden locks, face smeared with debris. But he doesn't care. He's different to the others. As he stands in his death suit, he touches his lips. He lingered long enough to witness a kiss he'd only ever dreamt about.

As a matter of fact, he realises, the last dream he'd ever had was of her.

The gates of heaven are there to greet him. He trudges forward tentatively, unsure, watching the entire Himmel Street before him weep as they disappeared through the shining entrance. Distantly, he heard laughter, he smelt sunshine, he felt _heaven_.

And still, he did not enter.

He didn't want to go.

He turns to Death, about to ask for his opinion when he realises Death had probably never entered Heaven either. He stands there for a while, head tilted, shoulders shaking a little, covered in dust like a jelly coated in icing sugar, mouth agape. Finally, he realises he must say something.

"I-I don't want to go," he finally chokes. "I want to – I want to –"

Frankly, Rudy Steiner doesn't know what to say. He stands there, choking on his tears as he witnesses the beautiful tragedy beneath him called Earth, as he fumbles to understand, at the tender age of fourteen, the wonders and terrors of the human condition.

_A little known fact:_

Rudy isn't scared. He's completely terrified.

"It's not – it's not fair."

And after thinking about it for a while, he realises that it's best way to phrase it, so he says it again.

"It's just not fair."

_A well-known fact:_

Life never was.

Death awkwardly stands there, waiting for the child's tears to stop. He thinks about the thousands dead and the many millions more to go. He dedicates a quiet moment to commemorate every single war, battle, disaster there ever was, and the poor, misguided souls who never had a say in the way the universe would turn. Silently, he agrees.

It's just not fair.

_A confession_

"I don't – I don't want to die like this."

Death, who had never been in Rudy's circumstance and never would be, curiously studies the boy.

_What Death discovers_

The boy is just a boy.

All boys are just boys.

Men are just men.

Colours are just colours.

Life is just life.

And death...is just death.

It's the truth, Death realises. So he tells the boy as his own confession.

Rudy's unsatisfied. He shakes his head of dusty locks, flinging pieces of his bedroom ceiling around him. "You're wrong," he says.

_The correction_

Colours are _colours._

Life is _life._

And death is, well, it's _death_.

There's something about the way Rudy Steiner is saying it, but Death stares a little. How should one estimate the human race without overestimating it, or underestimating it, or not even truly estimating it at all? How does one approach humanity – with a grimace or with a smile?

How did – how _could _– the dead ever smile?

Rudy, meanwhile, is still unsatisfied.

"Do something," he urges, "say something. Feel something. Dream something."

What could Death ever aspire to become? How should Death ever ignite with the human condition and experience the pain, the suffering and the happiness? What should Death say?

There was, however, something Death could do.

"Follow me," he simply says to a surprised Rudy, "Do what I say. Come with me."

A dim light of hope rose in Rudy's chest. This was it. This was his finest moment.

Death turns around gently and places a bony hand on the boy's left shoulder. The two of them leap through time, flying through and tearing down the gentle seam of fate.

_What Death sees_

Colours. So many colours.

He shouldn't be doing this.

_What Rudy sees_

Visions of greatness.

Miracles and tragedies.

Life and death.

Birth and destruction.

Liesel.

Pure awe shines across his features. There's something about him, something that feels a little different, a little lighter, alive. He turns to his companion, speechless.

Death justifies himself.

"I am giving you a second chance."

It _was_, after all, a well known concept. The dead never truly remain dead.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Believe me, I'm NOT Markus Zusak.

Thank you to the three people who reviewed, ReaderFOUR, Total Obssessive Bookworm and Paigerella. You guys are awesome! Here's chapter 2. Hope you find something to enjoy your day.

"How about a kiss, saumensch?"

How many times does it take to say goodbye? For Liesel, letting go was harder than holding on. Wading in the murky water, half-frozen as her eyes glaze over, the book is held firmly between her trembling fingers. She smiles listlessly at everything and nothing, listening, with her heart's content, to the silent answer.

_A Question with An Answer:_

Question: What is she doing in the water?

Answer: She wants to die.

*

The sky is a whitewash of colours. There are greys, there are blues, there are reds, and there are whites. Many different whites. Liesel stands in the plush grass, unsure of what to do, staring listlessly at the small mound of freshly dug-up dirt in front of her. It's been months since the bombings but it feels like mere minutes. There are wounds that just refuse to be healed.

_One Last Burial:_

Just an accordion

A blonde doll with an amputated leg

And some memories.

Liesel Meminger wants to die.

_Some thoughts on the matter of suicide_

It's not fair.

Why did _she_ have to live?

Why couldn't _she_ die?

Everything would be so much easier if _she_ were dead.

The fact that Rudy Steiner desperately wanted to live and Liesel Meminger desperately wanted to die made Death pause and consider for a moment. In the years to come, what if both occurred?

*

1945. The year where the terrible war finally ended. A year of recovery. And a year of relief, suspicion and commemoration.

Somewhere a little north and a lot west of where Liesel Meminger had stood, a naked, shivering boy with hair the colour of fresh lemons opens his eyes for the first, and second, time.

He holds his breath and casts his eyes on his surroundings, almost expecting something dramatic to suddenly happen. Any minute now, something would pop out from behind the trees, from behind the bushes, or possibly fall on him from the giant branches suspended above him that made pretty images with the sunlight.

Rudy Steiner's Current Thoughts

Was he alive? Was he actually alive?

And what the devil happened to his clothes?

How long was it that he lay there, sleeping, merely sleeping? Standing up seemed awkward. His back aches, stamped with the crosses shaped like grass blades. His rear is sore and his feet seem numb. His limbs, stretched thin and unused for so long, seem unnatural to him.

Death shakes his head a little sadly. He had done his best. The fact that Rudy Steiner is alive is already a miracle he never anticipated. He stands above Rudy, standing with his parents and all his five siblings. They had wanted to see the day Rudy would rise.

"Komm schon, Rudy," his brother urged, barely-concealed elements of desperate greed and envy clinging to his face, granting him an almost inhuman look. "Come on."

Rudy's head, his head full of blooming lemons, no longer the rusty colour he had left the living with, glimmers as his head whips round, eyes wide open, mouth slightly ajar. He stares at the sight of his brother. His _dead_ brother.

What Rudy says

I – you – what – how?

Death stares at his miracle. There is something about Rudy Steiner, something about him that makes him a little different to the Rudy Steiner of the first time round. Rudy's face is edged, sharper, leaner. Stubble embellishes the once smooth pale skin. His hair, though with the same colour they beheld when the boy was fourteen, is longer, almost rougher, and dirty-looking. It takes Death a moment to realise.

A decidedly true fact

Rudy Steiner has grown up.

Rudy, however, is currently fascinated by the fact that not only is he once again alive, but he can also see his family. Oh, and Death. Always Death.

"Be careful, you saukerl," his mother whispers affectionately. "We'll be waiting for you. **Bis später."**

"**Bis später, mama," he whispers back. **_**See you**_**.**

And with the same whimsical nature they arrived in, the Steiners leave, an apparition dispersing into the clear air. Rudy watches them with almost the same degree of longing as they had watched him with. It's been years. Even though he's been asleep the whole time, it's safe to say that he dreamt. He dreamt dreams and nightmares, wishes and fantasy. And there, smack-dab in the very centre of his wondrous sub-conscience, was his family. He dreamt about thievery, about the Jews, about Jesse Owens, about the stupid Fuhrer forgetting his speech, sure, about Liesel, but always, _always_ about his family too.

He misses his sisters.

But just as the heartbreak tears at him, just as he wonders what on Earth he's doing here, he stops. He straightens his back. He walks forward with as much confidence as a naked boy – man – walking through a forest in 1945 can. It seems like he just remembered something. He walks past Death without a word.

This is it. _This is it._ The second chance of all second chances. The one he can't – won't – blow. Here was his chance to do all the things that, at fourteen, only occurred briefly during the nighttimes of his bedroom, and even then as unreachable dreams.

Rudy's list of things he wants to do

Liesel. Enough said.

His father's still alive.

Be Jesse Owens again. Even for a moment, because that's the first thing Rudy remembered when he started remembering.

Somehow manage – successfully this time – to steal that biggest potato of the lot.

Just what had happened to Tommy Muller?

Oh, and kissing. There'd better be plenty of it this time.

It's only until he's standing at the edge of the forest, watching through the safe, disguising trees at the row of houses built closely – too closely – around him that he realises something else. Something that causes the first person he sees – incidentally a teenage girl – to faint and the second – a matronly middle-aged mother – to curse at him in colours yet to be mixed and witnessed by the unsuspecting universe. Though not for long.

His first day on Earth ends with his discharge from the mental hospital miles away. And this time, with a bewilderedness the falters many into staring at him, he's wearing some clothes.

"I'd better be getting a kiss at the end of this, saumensch," he mutters.


	3. Chapter 3

_Announcing – A Brief Intermission_

Lottery

Noun.

**1.** any scheme for the distribution of prizes by chance.

**2.** an affair of chance.

Congratulations. You are the **123,456,789,876,543,210****th** person to die in Round **1003**.

You are entitled to: _**one**_ wish(es).

_Terms and Conditions_

One: The Dead must remain deceased.

Two: The live shall live until their time has come.

Three: And ignorant.

Four: Any winner attempting to travel back as a substantial being may only be felt and heard by the living for a period of exactly one day.

Five: There is no going back.

The sky lightened and sky darkened. Clouds came and clouds went. Shapes formed, shapes dissipated. Oh, and the colours. How the colours melted and moulded, darkened and lightened, spilt red once more no less than seventeen more times.

It's a horrible thought, but sometimes the survivors have to keep on living, no matter how hard the prospect may be.

It was the way of the world.

For Liesel Meminger, life has never seemed so dull, so unpromising. What was it ahead of her than she was living for? What was it, the Big Picture she had never grasped, even before the Incident?

_The __Incident_

noun,

A distinct piece of action, or an episode, as in a story or play.

e.g. A world war.

Ah, the dark times. Times when everyone and everything was affected. Dark clouds lingered permanently above them, back then. The future didn't matter back then. What mattered was living through the present, one more day closer towards the finish line, be it victory or loss. In those last months, it hardly mattered.

So much had been destroyed, and so much had risen from the ashes, months and years later. The people united in their fear. Liesel was given another chance to live with such open arms.

And Himmel Street rose from the dead, something hardly alive, though not quite beyond help. Simply, it was stuck between two conflicting forces, and one final tug left it in the land of the living. Roads, unfortunately for Death, weren't on his list of collectables.

_A confession_

Liesel will never forget the sight of her beloved street running, seeping with blood, blood that had yet to dry, blood that, in memory, never would.

But that was all so many years ago, of course. Liesel has grown up. Liesel has witnessed Death, unforgiving Death in all his raging glory who spared no one, _no one_, even when she begged and begged –

_A few whispered words__ of the past_

Papa? No. _No_. Papa. Papa!

Oh, Rudy.

For Liesel, no matter how hard she tried to forget, there were always times in the day when boredom engulfed her and she thought about the beautiful boy with his lemon-coloured hair, the accordionist father with the amazing talent of simply blending into his surroundings, both who would have kept her entertained whenever the day passed too slowly. There were just too many gaps in between every hour, every day, and every lonely year.

_A change worth mentioning_

Liesel Meminger has given up on her words, now seeking solace among the company of numbers.

There was something about them, something so incredibly sensible yet dreadful about the numbers. For Liesel, they stayed the same, and as long as she paid attention and did them right, the sums would always add up. They'd make sense. When she put it down on paper, and here she needn't think much as she put it all down on paper, not like words where one had to remember the power each word held, and had to take care placing the words together, the numbers would stay on the surface of her paper, unless she willed them away.

There was nothing random, spontaneous or surreal about numbers. The wonder of mathematics was that no matter how many bombs could shower the earth in how many seconds, no matter how many minds or souls could be destroyed and how much blood a street of German civilians could lose, numbers would still remain intact, unbroken and unchanged, not even needing to brace themselves for another ambush.

Numbers couldn't abandon you when you needed them most.

At the end of the day, when there was nothing else for her, nothing else Liesel could do, the monotony of her numbers would help her survive another day, and the motion of forever adding, adding and subtracting till the ends of her days, would be enough for Liesel to quicken her pace, as if there was something else at the end of it all.

The books, however, were still there. It had broken Isla Hermann's heart to see them unattended and the books she had occasionally left for Liesel untouched. The mayor, however understood, being a man of little words when none were asked to be said.

A brief description of the important man in the shadows

The mayor's name was Heinz Hermann.

_Bugermeister_ Heinz Hermann in public.

He was ten years older than his wife, two inches shorter and much, much wider.

He fancied himself a counter, not a reader.

Oh, yes, and _he_ was the one who pointed to Liesel the other road.

One night, when Liesel had had enough of staying shut in her room, she'd opened her door and began exploring.

The Hermann household was large, of course. Even through strained times, it remained well-preserved, not demolished but merely subdued.

_A wonderful occurrence_

There was light coming from the closed door at the end of the corridor.

Being yet to shed her inquisitive skin for adulthood, Liesel edged a little closer until her ear was pressed to the cold wood. It was Herr Hermann's room, of course. Her new papa. Her breathing slowed. Her mind halted. She waited for something to happen. A sign.

There came the soft sound of a good, sharp ink tip on paper. A sound Liesel had heard, quietly, at the back of her head for months, or perhaps even years, on end. It was the sound of placing a bit of soul on paper. The sound of memories, of hope, of dreams and confessions.

It was comforting, the sound. After half an hour, Liesel finally walked back to her room in a cloud of serenity. Before long, she had made up her mind to go back to the door, tomorrow.

And so it began. The start of our heroine making her way out of despair. The second night was spent with a woolly blanket wrapped around her shoulders and a small tin of biscuits depleting in numbers. Occasionally, an accompaniment of sighing and whistling was heard on the other side.

Heinz Hermann opened the door to a sleeping girl on the sixth night. He was bewildered, but being a man of good morals and a right sense of judgement that had landed him the town mayor, he lifted the girl up – and _Schleisse_, was she light – then put her to bed.

The next morning, breakfast was held at the table and none of them spoke. But something had definitely changed. When Liesel saw Herr Hermann, she no longer felt shy (he was, after all, still the mayor).

_The unwritten agreement_

Liesel Meminger is given permission to sit at the door and listen to the music,

so long as Herr Hermann doesn't replace her papa.

After two weeks of prominent eavesdropping, Heinz Hermann invited Liesel in. "Come," he said softly, blunt brown eyes focussed on her face. "You might like this."

The mayor's office room was designed to be spacious but the architect had underestimated the mayor's capability to fill space with work. The fireplace was meant to warm up the room, but Herr Hermann's desk was placed so far away it hardly mattered if anything was alight. Heinz preferred his desk positioned close to his door. It was almost as if he couldn't be bothered walking such a distance from one end of the room to the other. Being the very opposite of Hans Hubermann, his protruding stomach and stout limbs made him impossible to miss.

What Liesel didn't count on was for Hermann to sit her down next to him and hand over a sheet of numbers and a pen.

"Get started," was all he instructed.

_Question One_

I have 5 siblings and a supply of 126 pieces of bread every week.

How much bread am I allowed to have every day if each of us are given the same amount?

Liesel, in return, picked up her pen and carefully wrote down her own questions.

_Do I have parents?_

_Am I secretly housing a Jew in my basement?_

And _Is there nothing else to eat?_

Her breath was caught when she looked at the question again. "_I have 5 siblings…" _Rudy Steiner had five siblings.

Heinz Hermann took one look at the paper five minutes later (_What if my only brother died when I was nine? How many fathers am I allowed to have?_ ) and sighed. "This won't do, Liesel," he murmured, looking sadly at the sheet of questioned maths questions. "You must let go. You have to. Forget about your past and focus on the numbers."

Liesel, in an instant, cast her empty eyes on the mayor. "How? How can you stand this? How do you live?"

Heinz smiled sadly. "It still hurts Liesel. It'll always hurt when I think of him. Sometimes the pain lessens a little when I imagine him in a better place. He's happy, I know he is."

For a moment, Death turned to view the sudden appearance of Johann Hermann behind his shoulder. He paused, then decided better than to rebuke the dead. He had, after all, learnt his lesson.

"My wife retreats to her books. I am different. Numbers, Liesel, can help just as much."

It was with this reassurance that Liesel decided to give it a try. With a shaking hand, she picked up the pen again, trying to swallow down the faint memory of the last night in the basement. Then she took a deep breath, and started.

They worked in silence. An almost comfortable, but sometimes conscientious silence, of course. Heinz Hermann would never replace her papa, but the silence they shared made him more than just her benefactor. Liesel kept her head down and managed to finish three sheets of number questions before Heinz finally placed his pen down and ushered her to bed.

He smiled a little at the young woman's attempts. "It's good, isn't it? When they have left you, all of them, the numbers are here, right here. Always here. They're never gone."

And for a while, Liesel shared his pain. Johann Hermann watched silently from the sideline with so much he desperately wished to say but long understood he could not say them. He wanted to show Liesel what his death had done to his parents. He wanted to show her what they were like before all of this began, how happy they were, how bright they shone.

He wanted to hold his mother in his arms and tell her it was alright to let go and love Liesel. He wanted to touch his father's shoulder and tell them just what he thought of numbers.

But he didn't, simply because he couldn't. It was the unfairness and fairness of things. Some got a second chance because they deserved it. Some deserved a second chance but never got it. Death was never choosy, of course. Life, unfortunately, was.

_A paralysing thought_

Somewhere along their lives (or possibly deaths), they've wondered.

What was at the end of it all?

What were they was waiting to happen?  
-----

By mid-afternoon, something was clear to Rudy – whoever had clumsily buried the remains of Himmel Street had forgotten Tommy Muller.

He stared at the assemblage of gravestones marking the rows of the dead he had never imagined could remain so silent.

There before him lay all of Himmel Street, randomly jumbled among themselves. Rudy had almost expected the families to assemble in alphabetical order, but then again, Death had caught their souls alphabetically.

Young boys, father, brothers, lovers. Bratty live blonde girls and admonishing mothers. Rudy took the time to kneel down and ponder every life that had been lost at every tiny grave. Every life that Death could have brought back, had the world been fair.

There was Liesel's mother, Frau Hubermann. It was stupid, Rudy knew, and probably extremely disrespectful, but he couldn't help laughing. They had buried Rosa Hubermann and Frau Holtzapfel side by side.

_Ironic, isn't it?_

Two sworn enemies, equal in scorn and blasphemy, forced to spend the rest of eternity with the other hardly an inch away. Space, after all, was limited.

For a moment Rudy paused, almost certain he had heard the familiar echo of Frau Hubermann's swears and the earth-shaking sound of Frau Holtzapfel's spitting. Even Pfiffikus - and they had buried him as Pfiffikus, for the old scoundrel who made Rosa Hubermann sound like a saint had taken his true name to his grave - even Pfiffikus' distant whistling could be heard. They were there, Rudy knew, just round the corner.

_A fact to ponder_

Rudy Steiner was no longer Not Alive, but that did _not_ make him Not Dead.

And because of this minute difference between this boy and every other living, breathing boy, Rudy Steiner possessed the ability to hear things someone Not Dead would never be able to hear.

_A confession of __sorts_

Often, humans cannot hear what they won't.

But it was there, that nagging feeling in his chest that told him perhaps Tommy Muller wasn't buried among the others because they hadn't found anything to bury.

And yet…

Rudy was certain, absolutely certain he hadn't seen Tommy among the dead that had left Himmel Street for its namesake. The crowd that did go in through the shining gates, the Hubermanns, the Steiners…none of them had the unique ability which Tommy possessed that always stood him out in a crowd. That, or his twitching.

But at the same time, Rudy was also certain Tommy had died. The boy certainly hadn't the will or stamina to survive a bombing, no matter how badly injured he could have ended up being. And Tommy, poor Tommy who was scared of the cold, the dark and the night outside couldn't have strayed from home on such a night. Most importantly, Rudy knew, Tommy Muller's house did _not_ own a basement as Liesel's did.

So where was Tommy Muller?

The small mystery would be one to haunt Rudy more than once in the near future. He would wake up to the sound of breathing, convinced it wasn't his own, as if the fact that he could breathe still hadn't quite sunk in. The sheer stubbornness of his mind would have him searching through the phone book and visiting every Muller household in the neighbourhood.

Secretly, Death knew. Rudy, in his own way, was scared. After all, one boy had already risen from the dead. What would it mean if another one had, too?  
-----

Something that had not occurred to Rudy was to search for his own grave. Unlike Tommy, the LSE workers and Liesel had all seen his disfigured body under a layer of dust. So he had to have a grave somewhere as well…

Rudy, standing up from his leaning position against the mount of Frau Diller's plaque, stretched a little then began his hunt for his tomb. He did it slowly, of course. There were some things one didn't like to face, and one of them was the idea of dying once – and possibly doing it again.

_Rudy's confession_

_I didn't _mean_ to lose my clothes. _

_Honestly._

Something inside him twanged when he came to the Steiners' graves. The first he saw was Kurt's. Then Anne-Marie's. Then Barbra Steiner…_mama_…

He stopped suddenly when he noticed the man crouching in front of her grave. There were flowers in his hands, pretty ones but wrapped in nothing but plastic. His hands were trembling.

"Papa…" he whispered.

Alex Steiner's face turned sharply, alarmed at the sight of the young man behind him. Years had passed since the two had last met, and prominent wrinkles traced the man's forehead and cheeks. They marked the years of the grieving old. Laughter was missing in those lines.

"Sorry?"

Rudy cleared his throat then tried to smile a little. He gestured at his mother's grave, focussing his eyes on her rather than his father's surprised eyes. "I think I knew her once."

There was a brief silence. Perhaps Alex had already dismissed the presence of a stranger for the bitterness of his sorrow. After a while, Rudy decided to sit himself down next to his father.

"You must love her," he said softly, knowing the answer already.

"Oh, very much," Herr Steiner said fiercely, eyes still on Barbra Steiner's gravestone. "So very, very much. You have no idea…"

Oh, but Rudy did. And having such an idea only did to intensify the burn at the bottom of his stomach a little more.

It _hurt_. That was something Rudy didn't count on. How could it hurt more to see your loved ones alive instead of dead?

Something changed in Rudy. For the first time, he was no longer viewing his father as his hero, the man who once lifted three big boxes with one hand for four minutes without dropping. He was viewing him as Alex Steiner – just another broken German who had lost all his possessions. In fact, it almost disappointed Rudy, the way white hair had broken victory over the borders of his part, the way the wrinkles were chiselled into the stringy flesh so deeply and boldly, it seemed as if Alex had spent the last few years frowning.

_Oh papa…what happened to you?_

There were many things Rudy Steiner had come back to do, of course. Fulfilling destiny was just one of them. For now, if he was going to try for Being Alive Again, why not start now?

"Right," he said out loud, causing Alex to give him another odd look, "well, let's polish these graves up, shall we?"

He didn't wait for Alex to begin. Rudy, being younger and fitter, did most of the work anyway. They worked hours on end, but the silence between them, which began seeming like lifetimes, slowly melted into a bittersweet understanding.

_The Curious Relationship of Rudy and Alex Steiner_

Today is the first day I've met you.

Yesterday was the last.

I knew you, I loved you then I died and forgot you.

Now I live and I remember.

I love you, I do.

You don't know that yet, but you knew.

Eventually, the words cleared, the ground cleared and the gravestones remained the way they were. It was pathetic, the two of them. Was it possible to spend so long on something, only to finish and realised nothing seemed done at all?

Barbra Steiner rose from behind, her faint eyes shimmering in memory. "_Danke_," she mouthed. "Thank you." Perhaps Alex sensed part of the woman he had loved and married for over twenty years. Perhaps, for his head tilted, ever so slightly as if he had trouble hearing what she had said, then he closed his eyes and with all the wisdom of humanity and the love of a husband, sighed.

It was a beautiful thing, Death later mused. The sky had been blue at the time. Dangerous blue, then again safe blue at the edges, streaked with the ever-present traces of orange, today a runny yolk orange. Like a spilt sun.

"I'm Rudolf," Rudy later said as the two men parted, almost bonding through the peculiar activity of grave-cleaning. "If there's anything you need…"

Alex smiled, eyes far away. "Thanks, son."

It was enough to break poor Rudy's heart.

And for an instant, he wondered who else, which other survivors of Himmel Street, had also changed.  
----

Wow. And that took me, like, half a year. I'm sorry if this really disappointed a lot of people, but school seriously takes up a lot of time. I literally spend more time at school than at home. I'm not kidding. I see my parents' faces for maybe an hour, then it's bed, then it's 6.30 am in the morning and to school again. I know, I know, the whole world is under the sme pressure I'm in, and besides, this chaptor isn't even that great, but bear with me. Liesel is about to get the shock of her life...

MaskWithATruth


End file.
